


The Many Kings

by bygone_daze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Half plot half smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygone_daze/pseuds/bygone_daze
Summary: Rhaegar never meets Lyanna and Robert's Rebellion become's Rhaegar's. The prince gains the loyalty of the Lords Paramount by promising to give back the crowns of their ancestors after his victory. Westeros has gained nine kings, though all still swear fealty to the High King on the Iron Throne - for now. Various AU parings ensue as the new kings seek to solidify their rule. We begin with Cersei/Rhaegar - and they're happy?





	1. Rhaegar/Cersei

The sun was setting as Rhaegar strode eagerly into his chambers in the Red Keep, knowing that his wife waited within. "I trust your discussions with the maesters were thrilling," said Cersei, smirking. The queen was resplendent in the red and black of her adopted house as she lounged near the window, her long, fair locks cascading over her gown. She was skeptical of her husband's odd interests in history and prophecy, but it was one of the few complaints she had of the silver prince. Rhaegar was the man she'd dreamed of marrying since she was a girl. He'd been stolen from her by another, but her in the end her father had kept his promise and she'd had her prize after all. 

When Rhaegar rebelled against his father King Aerys, the lords of the Riverlands, Vale, and Dorne rallied to the prince's side. House Lannister's eventual defection then tipped the balance, and neutral Stark, Baratheon and Greyjoy submitted once the war was won. It was a marriage that swayed Lord Tywin to Rhaegar's side, turning him against the king he served as Hand. Princess Elia had died in the birthing bed during the war, and the child was lost as well. Rhaeger needed a queen and a son, and thus Tywin's golden daughter would wear the crown after all. But for Rhaegar, marrying the scion of a wealthy and powerful house, and one of the great beauties of Westeros, could not be considered any great sacrifice. The true price he paid to depose his mad father was the promise he made to the Lords Paramount. The nine lords would be given back the crowns their ancestors once relinquished to the Conqueror. They would still exist as vassals to the Iron Throne and pledge fealty to the Targaryens. But they would do so as kings, with increased autonomy and power to match the title. Cersei still resented that after the war, when she was wedded and crowned, nine other women became queens as well. But she took solace in her retained superiority - she was Cersei Targaryen, High Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and none could claim to be her equal.

The six years of their marriage had been fruitful - within months of the wedding Cersei began to swell with child, eventually giving birth to Vaena, a healthy silver-haired princess. And now, ten months past she'd at last given Rhaegar an heir. The crown prince Aegon's upcoming name day celebration would draw half the realm to King's Landing, but at the moment the king and queen were focused only on one another. "You deserve some time free of thought after such stimulating fare," said Cersei she rose from her seat, lifting her crown from a nearby table and placing it on her head as she walked toward him. 

"Hmm. But to look upon you spurs thoughts of all kinds," said Rhaegar. Bearing two children had not diminished the Queen's form; at two and twenty, her slender but womanly figure still drew all men's notice. "Perhaps it is time to make that third dragon you've been speaking of," said Cersei, kissing her husband as he took her in his arms. "We are of one mind, my queen," Rhaegar said with a smile. Cersei's hand moved between Rhaegar's legs and gripped his hardening member. She began kissing his chest while she loosened his breeches, extracting his manhood and running her hand along its length. Rhaegar groaned softly as she lowered herself to her knees, fixing him with her emerald eyes as her tongue flicked out wickedly over the head of his cock. 

The Iron Throne had its thorns, but to have the most beautiful woman in the kingdom pleasure him from her knees was not one of them. Rhaegar had loved his first wife, Princess Elia. The frail Dornish beauty was a loyal warm-hearted partner and an earnest companion in the bedroom. But bedding Cersei Lannister was another matter altogether. Such as now - she had a way of wrapping his member with her tongue as she sucked him, introducing a level of pleasure Rhaegar hadn't known existed. Cersei held the base of his lengthy shaft in both hands as she took him in deeper. It wasn't every day that her husband received this gift - but when she gave it, she liked to do it well. And Rhaeger had earned a reward, having just presented her with a new royal carriage for her journeys to Casterly Rock. The king smiled as he noted that Cersei still wore her crown, as she was sometimes wont to do in the bedroom. Cersei was a proud, ambitious young woman, and becoming High Queen had done nothing to lessen her vanity. But the queen had become precious to Rhaeger, and he enjoyed his opportunities to indulge her. He intended to spoil her further now. 

Rhaegar guided her upwards, sliding her gown off of her shoulders and down to her feet as she rose. His hands roamed her exquisite form before setting on her hips, lifting her, laughing, from her feet and tossing her on the bed. Rhaegar dropped to his knees and parted her legs with his hands. He lowered his mouth to her leg, and began to slide his tongue along the creamy skin of her thigh toward her center. The queen kept just a small patch of golden hair, as was the style in the capital, and his nose brushed against it as his tongue crept out to suck at her pink folds. Cersei moaned, propping herself on her elbows and looking down at him as he lapped at her sex. Even after six years, the realization that a Targaryen king was licking her cunt was enough to deepen her pleasure. 

Rhaegar brought her close to release before rising to her level and lying beside her. Cersei climbed astride him, rubbing her wetness against his abdomen as their tongues entwined. The queen's arse was perhaps her best feature, rounded and firm, and she began raising and lowering her hips to massage the top of his manhood with her rear. This trick was a favorite of King Rhaegar's, but after a few moments of teasing she was ready to take him within. They moaned in unison as he entered her. His sizable member pushed its way slowly into by her tight cunt, which always seemed to grip him closer than Elia's ever had. Cersei picked up her crown from the bed and returned it to her forehead, beginning to shine with sweat as she rode him in earnest. "Oh yes, fuck your queen," she commanded, Rhaegar grunting in reply. He liked when Cersei spoke like this, and he began to thrust harder as they moved in practiced synchrony. After a time he sat up, supporting Cersei's back with his arms as she bobbed in his lap. Her firm teats bounced enticingly as she leaned back into his arms, and he lowered his head to take one of her large, pink nipples into his mouth. "Oh, Rhaegar," she groaned, and he could feel her wetten as she neared her climax. He shifted both hands to her arse, gripping her tightly as he quickened and deepened his thrusts. He felt the familiar clenches as she spasmed around his manhood, reaching her end. Cersei let out a series of high-pitched pants as she the felt the strong, warm ropes of Rhaegar's seed signal his finish.

She rested upon his chest, both of them now panting and glazed with sweat. "You're a good king, husband, but you're even better at that," she said, chuckling. Rhaegar smiled. "Might it be enough to make another dragon?" Cersei arched an eyebrow. "We'll make seven dragons if you can keep that up. As long as I'm still small enough to fit my new gowns for Aegon's nameday. Westeros must see its queen at her best."


	2. Tywin/Mariya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More world-building and more smut.

King Tywin entered the Tower of the Hand wearily after a long day spent with the small council. He sat with two other princes on the council - the master of laws, Doran Martell, and Mathis Rowan, King of the Grove and master of coin. Rowan's rise had been greater than perhaps any other, given that his house had never been a Lord Paramount. But Mace Tyrell, the new Hand, had refused to join the rebellion, fearing the wrath of of the Mad King. He at last abandoned King Aerys nearer to the end than any lord, and for that, Rhaeger determined to make an example of him, stripping of his paramouncy over the Reach. Lord Tyrell had little recourse as two of his largest bannermen stood to benefit from the new order and thus would not come to his aide. The Tyrells were still viewed as stewards by some great families in the Reach, and they were supplanted by two houses older than their own: Hightower and Rowan. Young Baelor Hightower became King of the High Tower, regaining the title his house had held centuries before. With his Queen Ashara of house Dayne he ruled a dominion that stretched from Arbor north to to the Shield Isles and east through Horn Hill and the borders of Dorne. Meanwhile, Mathis Rowan became the newly minted King of the Grove, which contained the northern half of the Reach including Highgarden, where the diminished Lord Tyrell was now his reluctant vassal. This precedent was not a welcome one for the other new kings, but like Rhaegar, they were eager to see the realm's wealthiest, most populous kingdom split into two to bring greater balance among the kingdoms. 

The three rulers were joined on the council by Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle, and together they formed a capable and formidable cast of lieutenants to implement Rhaegar's rule. But today's sessions had been tiresome and lacking in consequence, so Tywin was eager to retire to his chambers at day's end. After pouring himself a cup of wine, the door opened to reveal his wife, Mariya Lannister, returning from their young daughter Amerei's chambers after supervising her lessons. Tywin had remained unmarried for ten years after the death of Lady Joanna, but with the war won, his children married and a kingdom granted, the time to wed again had finally come. Mariya Darry was a logical match. Her eldest brother Lord Ambrose was a stalwart Targaryen loyalist, while her second brother, Ser Jonothor, was a knight of the Kingsgaurd. Mariya herself was unmarried at four and twenty, after the death of her sickly first husband, Duncan Whent. She was a tall, handsome woman, fair skinned and generously curved, which Tywin had noted during the victory celebration in King's Landing. Her age suited him - he needn't marry a woman as young as his daughter, and her figure appeared well-suited to bring forth more Lannister babes. Tywin broached the possibility of the match to her brother, and Lord Ambrose quickly accepted. 

Mariya Darry never expected to be a queen. Indeed, she had been quite pleased with her lot as the future Lady of Harrenhal, staying near to her family's lands and her Rivermen kin. It had come as a shock, the prospect of wedding the famous Tywin Lannister, becoming step-mother to the High Queen and a queen in her own right. She knew of Twyin's reputation as a cunning man, guided by familial pride and ruthless ambition. But the wealth of Casterly Rock enticed her, as it did many, and Lord Tywin, though nine years her senior, was not an unattractive man. She'd be the wife of the second most powerful man in the kingdom, and her daughter, once born, would be the only sister of the High Queen, close kin to the next Targaryen king. And so after the initial shock had passed, she had embraced the betrothal. When the day came, she stood proudly in a dress of white and gold, as her husband removed the cloak showing the plowman of Darry and replaced it with the crimson of House Lannister. 

Mariya had proven a capable Queen, spending much of the year in living in the Hand's Tower between sojourns to Casterly Rock. The seat of house Lannister was ruled in their stead by the young Prince Jaime and his Hightower bride. Mariya was clear-minded and clever, and though she harbored no great personal ambitions she did well at Twyin's side representing Lannister interests at court. Her husband was not known as warm or loving man. Even when alone with his wife, his emotions were often hidden beyond a mask of ice, and she feared he'd never let her in fully as he had with his Lady Joanna. But Tywin lived to further his family, and she was now a principal part of that. It felt good to have the most capable man in the realm protecting her interests and ensuring her future. 

For his part, Tywin was reasonably pleased with events as they stood. All of his ambitions had been achieved. His daughter was High Queen, and he had regained the crown relinquished three hundred year's prior by his forefather Loren the Last. His legacy was secure - his son would rule the West, and his grandson would sit the Iron Throne. His new wife had given him a daughter, little Amerei blending her mother's blue eyes and her father's fair locks. Mariya's only true shortfall to this point was the failure to bear him a third son - though with the recent birth of Jaime's son Tybolt the need was considerably less urgent. The line was now more secure, Tyrion's path to heirship further obstructed - but Tywin found he wanted another son all the same. Mariya deserved to be the mother of a Lannister prince, and he intended to make her one. Thus, their evening activities had become frequent and purposeful of late. 

After taking their meal and dismissing the servants, Tywin set his gaze upon his wife. She returned his stare, her long auburn hair hanging in tresses over her gown of golden gown with crimson lining. His eyes drifted from hers down to to the generous curves of her chest, only somewhat hidden by the suggestive cut of her gown. "I can see you're of a mind to continue our recent endeavors," she said wryly. "The day was long," said Tywin. "And yet I find my energy returning." He moved to sit on the edge of their bed as she followed, settling in his lap. "Let us test that renewed vitality," she whispered before their lips met. Tywin was an efficient man, and that rule applied to the bedroom as well. His hands quickly moved to her shoulders, pulling at her gown and unlacing her bodice. His first wife had been a beautiful woman, as fair haired and regal as a Lannister should be. But Joanna's figure could not be compared to what he now saw before him as his wife's heavy teats spilled forth. His hands moved to caress their firmness, his practiced fingers attentive to her wide, hardening nipples. He elicited a moan from his Queen as his lifted a breast to his lips, rolling his tongue across her teat before giving a gentle nibble. She swatted him chidingly, laughing with pleasure as she began to lower herself before him. 

The queen was aware of the way men appreciated her body, and it served its purpose in keeping her husband's attention. Tywin's pulse quickened as she removed his manhood from his breeches and ran her tongue up and down his length. Her husband was sizable, considerably thicker than her first husband, and she found his largeness to be a source of both pleasure and amusement. When she'd fully moistened his member, she raised her teats, themselves already wet from Tywin's attentions. She enveloped his cock between them and used her hands to begin kneading her breasts around his cock. This act brought her little physical pleasure, it was true, but Tywin began to breath deeply as he gently worked his hips forward and fucked his wife's teats. Mariya always thought it quite the spectacle, his girthy manhood sparring with her glistening mounds. If her Lady mother could see her now.

The effect was stronger than intended this night, as Tywin found himself unexpectedly on the verge of release after a few minutes of her ministrations. He gritted his teeth in surprise as his seed spilled forth, spattering her teats in it's milky glaze. "We won't make a son that way," Mariya teased, taking a fingerful of his seed from her breasts and raising it to her tongue. "I am aware," said the King, a mix of satisfaction and annoyance crossing his face. After both taking another glass of Arbor gold, the Hand and wife returned to bed, where he soon mounted and entered her. Mariya was accustomed to his size by this point, but still she led out a gasp of pleasure as she felt herself widen within. Tywin took much longer this time, and his measured, even thrusts were eventually enough to bring her to climax. The sensation of his wife's wettening sex at last prompted the King's own release. This time, he hoped, it would take root. 

"Soon the prince's name day will be upon us," said the queen as she rose to take a much-needed bath. "And we shall be meeting your grandson." "Indeed," said Tywin. "All of our family, gathered together. And we'll have much to discuss to secure the future. For House Lannister and the realm."


	3. Brandon/Barbrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go north.

In the heart of Winterfell, Queen Barbrey entered the large, high-ceilinged chamber holiding the famed hot baths of the northern keep. The hot springs that ran beneath the castle were partially diverted centuries before, forming a large pool for the enjoyment of its inhabitants during the cold northern winters. Barbrey often met her husband here at day's end to soak together in the warm, soothing waters and escape the burdens of rule - a rule begun only a year prior, when King Rickard Stark's death made Brandon the Lord of Winterfell and King of the North. The young prince was regarded as brash and impulsive, known to take what he wanted - as he had taken Barbrey years ago. But most agreed that Brandon had changed after gaining his father's throne, growing into the role of a capable ruler, and his Ryswell Queen had played her role in that growth to be sure.

Queen Barbrey Stark found her husband already bare-chested and soaking within the pool, his eyes brightening as his wife strode toward him. She was a handsome woman at eight and twenty, tall and athletic with long brown hair a touch lighter than her husband's. Barbrey first caught Brandon's eye when he was still a lad fostering with Lord Dustin. His home was at Barrowton, but young Brandon's favorite pastimes were riding and hunting the Rills with the group of lordlings that followed his every step. These roamings made him a frequent guest of Lord Rodrick Ryswell, who had long-held ambitions of entwining his bloodline with that of the Starks. But Brandon needed no encouragement in his pursuit of the willful Barbrey, who began joining the Stark heir on evening rides through her father's lands. Lord Rickard was much displeased with his son when Brandon admitted to taking the maidenhead of his vassal's prized daughter. The younger Stark was in no rush to wed, but he'd forced his father's hand. The match was soon proposed, much to the satisfaction of Lord Ryswell.

Barbrey was none too displeased herself. In truth, among her and Brandon it was difficult to say which had seduced the other. Every northern girl of noble birth dreamed of one day wedding a Stark and living in Winterfell, and the proud daughter of the Rills was no exception. But beyond her personal ambitions she wanted Brandon Stark the man. The young Stark heir was tall and well to look upon, full of confidence and charm. He made her feel like an accomplice in his life of adventure, as if she could transcend the barriers normally placed before women in her world.

Barbrey was sent to Winterfell with a dowry in the form of both gold and the finest steed in her father's herd, known to be the highest quality horses in the North. She said her words happily before the heart tree knowing she was now destined to be the future matriarch of the North. But Prince Rhaeagar declared rebellion soon after, and less than two years hence her goodfather was made King and her husband a crown prince. When King Rickard died a year past, the strong-willed young lady of the Rills became Queen of the North.

She wore no true crown on her head as she entered the chamber, rather a thin circlet of bronze with a small, sparking sapphire at its center. She removed it and set it on her table, hands moving to her gray, fur-lined gown as she regarded her husband. "We have matters to discuss, Brandon. Our journey to the capital for Prince Aegon's nameday approaches, and many great kings and lords gathered all in one place. Our children are nearing the age where matches must be considered, and many will be made in the course of the celebration. A rare opportunity, and we must be prepared to take advantage." 

King Brandon watched as his wife's dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing the long, toned body he knew and loved. "You must be jesting if you expect me to think of strategy as my wife stands naked before me," he said chucking as she approached the pool from the opposite side and slid slowly into the water. "Then I will be concealed beneath the surface until you strategize to my satisfaction," said Barbrey. Brandon sighed. "You compel me then, woman," he said resignedly. "I had thought perhaps to match our Erric to Ned's daughter. Ned and I have not been as close as we should be, and my brother is now an important vassal, guarding our kingdom to the south." His father had given the lordship of Moat Caitlin to young Eddard, along with the charge to work to restore the once-great fortress. Ned was wedded to Cathryn Waynwood, niece to Jon Arryn, a match proposed by the Lord of the Eyrie during Eddard's time there as ward. Together Ned and his Lady spent the last five years working to transform the ruins into a proper keep. That effort would be a long one, but in the undertaking they had grown into a strong and respected stature in the southern reaches of Brandon's kingdom.

"Prince Eddard is loyal to a fault. Even if he hated you he couldn't bear to turn against you. Our family needs not another marriage to a northern house. We need allies in King's Landing, and a marriage is the surest route. Tywin Lannister's daughter is of an age with Edric. Elswise, one of Catelyn Arryn's girls could suffice. And for Barbara, we mustn't rule out the potential of a match with the crown prince." She knew the last was unlikely, but it thrilled her nonetheless, the thought of her daughter reigning as High Queen. "My wife, the kingdom would be lost without your foresight," Brandon said, only partly in jest. "I find it early to think of betrothals, but in this matter I will follow your proven wisdom. We will arrive in King's Landing with a strategy in hand - but that is something to discuss during the long journey that awaits. We have more pressing matters to attend to, my queen."

Barbrey had held that title for only a year now, and hearing it still gave her a tingle of satisfaction. "This conversation will resume," she warned, smiling as he crossed the pool and took her into his muscled arms. Their mouths met as their bodies entwined beneath the water's surface. Her legs wrapped around him as he kissed at her neck, moving his hands underneath her and lifting her to rest on the pool's edge. Brandon's eyes glazed with lust as he took in his wife's dripping form, sliding a hand from her hip to her center and slipping a wet finger into her sex. Barbrey gasped at her husband's touch, and she reached back into the water to grasp his manhood in return. He enjoyed her caress for a moment before lowering his mouth to her cunt, finding her pink nub with his tongue as he slipped a second finger inside her. "Oh Brandon, my love," Barbrey moaned as he pleasured her, her hands gripping his hair tightly.

After a time she put a hand to his chin, guiding him to stand from his place still in the pool's waters. She leaned forward onto all fours, resting on her elbows now at eye level with her husband's cock. She ran a hand across his wet, muscled abdomen as she took him in her mouth. "Gods," Brandon murmured as he as his length was massaged by Barbrey's lips, engulfing him further until his end touched the back of her throat. She slowly released his member, and Brandon, ever a man of action, nearly leapt from the pool as he took her again in his arms, guiding her onto her hands and knees upon the fur cloak she'd left on the stone floor. He believed his wife to have the finest arse in the North, high, round and firm from her many days spent on horseback. His manhood throbbed at the site of it presented before him, and he gave her a playful smack before kneading his hands into the soft flesh of her rear. Barbrey enjoyed the sensation, having indeed felt sore after a ride that morning. She was well aware of the King's admiration of this part of her, and flattery compelled her to let him indulge in it. But Brandon could delay no longer, and his hands moved to her hips as he positioned his member into her dripping entrance. "Oh, yes," Barbrey moaned. The Stark King's cock was the only one she'd ever known, the only one she'd ever wanted, and she closed her eyes and rocked her hips back against him as he filled her to her depths.

Brandon grunted with pleasure as he began pounding into her, riding her like he rode the prize red stallion he'd received from her father as dowry. After a few minutes of rutting she removed herself, panting, and rose to her feet. "It is my turn to ride," she said, a cool authority in her voice that Brandon found seductive despite himself. Barbrey directed him to the floor beneath her. He now lay on his back as she turned hers toward him, facing away as she lowered herself upon his manhood. When his queen had taken him nearly to the hilt, she began to slide up and down his length, pulsing her hips at a growing pace. Brandon rolled his hips in kind, enjoying the sight of her arse cheeks smacking against him as she took her pleasure of his cock. She began bucking wildly as she neared her finish, her frenzied fuck driving Brandon's release as he filled her with his seed. The warm rush of the King spending himself within her was enough to bring Barbrey's climax, and she surprised herself by letting out a shrill scream of pleasure as she found her end.

"Well, we needn't wake the castle," Brandon said chidingly as she turned again to lay beside him on the soft cloak. "You always manage to bring out the wild in me," said Barbrey. "And I'll yet find the wise king hidden in you."


	4. Jaime/Denyse, Lord/Lady Jast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casterly Rock

Jaime Lannister and his wife Princess Deynse were in their cups with their two companions. As sitting regent of Casterly Rock and the West with his father serving in King's Landing, the young prince was learning how to rule - something far less natural to himthan swinging a sword or drinking and jesting with Tyrion. At his side was his wife of five years, Denyse Hightower, face slightly flushed as she laughed at some remark. The princess was the fourth daughter of the deceased Lord Leyton, and her brother Baelor was crowned King of the High Tower by Rhaegar at the Rebellion's end. The Hightower King's ties to the Targaryens were sealed by the marriage his sister to the twin brother of Rhaegar's Queen. It was Lord Tywin who conceived of the match - the Hightowers were one of the oldest, most noble families in Westeros, and together their families controlled much of the western coast. And the newly-made Princess Denyse had the look of proper Lannister bride, comely, fair-haired and confident as she embraced her new life at Casterly Rock.

The princess was accustomed to luxury, having spent most of her life in the Hightower, her family's castle in the clouds above one of the largest cities in Westoros. But the wealth of the Casterly Rock was another matter, and Denyse still marveled at the lavishness of life she now lived. She was attended by six handmaidens and ever adorned with gold and crimson gowns of the finest Myrish lace, bedecked in the jewels her young husband gifted her seemingly every moon's turn. They ate decadently in the grand hall of the castle, surrounded by lords and ladies who curried for their favor. And last but not least, her husband was Jaime Lannister, the golden knight who sent maidens' hearts fluttering across the kingdoms. Denyse hadn't wanted to settle for marrying a mere lord as her sisters had, not in this new world where royalty was could be attained. And she'd gotten her wish - she still had to pinch herself at times at the thought that she'd one day be Queen of the Rock.

The man seated beside Jamie was Benedict Jast, Lord of Lonmont and the recently appointed master at arms of the Rock. Lord Benedict was a childhood companion of Jaime's, having warded with him at Crakehall and later fought by his side against the Kingswood Brotherhood. Two years Jaime's senior, Jast later distinguished himself during Rhaegar's rebellion, fending off raids by the opportunistic Ironmen as one of the principal captains of Lannisport's defense. Jast was rewarded for his service with a parcel of land containing a productive mine adjacent to his holdings, and now served as martial adviser and companion to Prince Jamie at Casterly Rock. Lord Benedict cut a striking figure. He was a tall, muscled knight, his sandy curls a shade darker than Jamie's. His hulking form and boisterous manner served to distract from the quick, ambitious mind hidden within. Benedict Jast owed much to the Lannisters, but he did not intend to spend his life meekly doing their bidding. He intended to see the great advancement of House Jast, and thus his long friendship with Jaime had become more complex of late.

Lord Jast's hand rested on the leg of his wife, who had her own long history with House Lannister. Melessa Myatt was sister to Lord Glavan, whose lands bordered those of Lonmont at the foothills of the western mountains. Roughly of an age with Cersei, she had been chosen to accompany Tywin's daughter to Kings Landing when they were still girls. Her younger brother became Lord of Myatt when their father was slain in battle at Byford, just before the Rebellion's end. The impressionable Lord Myatt then brokered his sister's betrothal to the neighboring Lord Jast, of whom he was somewhat in awe. Young Jast proposed the match knowing of Melessa's closeness with the new High Queen, and also that she'd provide him a claim on her family's lands if the chance arose.

Melessa departed from Cersei's company to for the mountainous lands of her youth, where her husband-to-be awaited her. Her escort approached the handsome stone castle Lonmont, nested into the foothills a few leagues from the Goldwater river running south to Goldengrove. The sigil of her new house fluttered from the ramparts, three lion's heads in yellow on a field of black, She was to be Lady of this castle, and by using all she'd learned during her years in the capital, she intended to be much more.

Lady Jast and her husband shared several qualities that made them a fitting pair. They were both liked to seek pleasure in life, whether through food, drink, sex, or power, depending on their whim. Each of them enjoyed the intrigue of court life, and were not above the use of deceit if it served their ends. And their marriage was a fruitful one, Melessa's lusty and virile husband getting four children on her in a span of five years. After growing weary of spending half her life in the birthing bed, she began having Benedict spend himself in her mouth instead to keep him from seeding her yet again. Of late, she had come to enjoy the site of her strapping husband seducing and claiming other women, often at her encouragement. It made her wetten to see him pleasure other ladies, dominating them with his physical prowess before returning to her and leaving them wanting. Indeed, Benedict had already fathered a bastard son on the older Janessa Lannister during a raucous night in Lannisport - though her husband Lord Quentin believed the lad to be his.

It was in this direction her thoughts had turned the prior night, as the Jasts lay abed in their well-appointed chambers within the Rock. "You must be mad," laughed Benedict, as his wife lay beside him with intrigue in her eyes. "Jaime appreciates a good bit of fun, but I doubt he'll see the humor in me fucking his lady wife." "Come," said his wife, "I've seen the way Deynse looks at you. And Prince Jaime will not be able to resist a chance to have his way with Cersei's precious friend." "Woman, you're deceitful mind outdoes itself," said her husband. "What good could come of such debauchery?" "Firstly, because it will be fun, my lord. But think more broadly for once. The royals will see this as their leal vassals offering their bodies for their enjoyment. But for us, the knowledge of a night of private pleasures would become a valuable secret, one that could prove quite useful one day." "How did I find a wife whose wicked heart exceeds even my own," said Jast, conceding. "If the moment strikes, we may try to undertake this madness. I must admit, it would be quite the romp."

As they sat in Prince Jaime's chambers the following night, all were well in their cups - though Lord and Lady Jast had subtly avoided consuming as much as their royal hosts. Benedict grinned and leaned over, murmuring a proposal into his friend's ear that made Jaime's eyebrows jump. Across the room, Princess Denyse shot an inquiring look before Melessa took her hand and leaned over, giggling as she relayed the same notion. Princess Denyse was drunk, there was no doubt, and she laughed nervously, her cheeks flushing as she looked to Lord Jast. He returned her gaze, flashing his charming smile as he took her in. The princess' pretty, heart-shaped face was framed by her wavy blonde locks, her brown eyes shining shyly at his. Denyse had most certainly taken notice of the muscled Lord of Lonmont during his time at Casterly Rock; indeed, she'd found herself wondering how his burly frame might look under his armor and doublet.

Across the table, Jaime's gaze drifted to Lady Melessa, finding her grinning deliciously in return. He had known Cersei's lackey since visiting his sister in King's Landing when they were two and ten, but Melessa had grown into a women of much allure. Jamie took great satisfaction in his marriage to Princess Denyse. Granted, she was not as beautiful as Cersei - he thought perhaps no woman was. But she was comely enough, with tanned skin and a full chest that did outrank his sister's. But in this moment Jaime could no deny the appeal of Melessa Jast. She was a slender woman, smaller breasted than his but wider of hip and plumper of arse. Her golden curls framed high cheeks and a pointed nose over a small, smirking mouth. Despite his relative happiness with his current state, Jaime still smarted from Cersei's brisk departure to King's Landing, eagerly replacing him with her precious prince. He knew not why, but he felt he would score some bit of revenge against his sister by fucking her oldest friend.

The Prince and Princess now looked at each other. A slight raise of the eyebrow from him, a smile and tilt of the head from her - and the night of hedonism would commence.

Lady Jast rose and approached her husband, pulling him to him feet and running hands through his hair as they embraced. The drunken Jaime felt his manhood stir as he moved to follow suit, rising to meet his own wife at the room's center. The young royal couple began necking in earnest, Jaime's hands roaming his wife's body as hers moved across his chest. Meanwhile the Jasts were progressing quickly, Benedict loosing his wife's bodice as she slipped her hand inside his breeches. Denyse moved to do the same for to husband, her shyness quickly diminishing as her passions stirred. Her hand found the prince's lengthy member and freed it from confinement, her long slender fingers tracing up along its length.

Then Lady Jast appeared by her side, still clad in her gown but with her teats exposed. Melessa's hand joined her own around Prince Jaime's cock as they stroked it as one. Melessa leaned in to kiss the princess, her tongue flicking out to dance with Denyse's before she turned and kissed Jaime in kind. The Princess briefly paused at the site of her husband's mouth on another woman's, but Melessa placed a hand on her shoulder and pointed across the room. There stood Lord Benedict, shirtless, his broad chest heaving as he returned her gaze. Deynse's shyness returned as she walked slowly toward him, eyeing the muscled torso of the seasoned warrior with cautious appreciation. He moved to sit on the nearby bed as she neared him. "I am at your service my Princess," he said, and she felt herself moisten as his hands moved to her sides, sliding up to unlace her bodice. Denyse gasped softly as his hands palmed her newly bared teats, wondering if he liked how they filled his big hands in a way that his wife's couldn't. She leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue taking on a life of its own as it sparred ardently with Lord Jast's. He pulled her dress to her feet before lifting her up on the bed so she lay atop him.

His mouth found her small pink nipples and sucked one then the other as she moaned, roaming her hands through his sandy curls. Jast then surprised her, using his strength to continue to slide her forward until her sex was positioned above his waiting mouth. "Mmmm," Dense purred as he began to lap at her cunt. It was good to be a Princess. Benedict's hands gripped her arse as he ate her, his tongue tracing tight circles around her nub of pleasure. It wasn't long before she felt that familiar warmth spreading within her as she reached climax, Lord Jast drinking the sweet nectar that dripped from her cunt.

Dense moved to lay abed beside him, the princess feeling short of breath but not near finished. Her hands reached greedily into his breeches. She had wondered at the size of the strapping martial's manhood, and she was not disappointed. His length was on par with that of Jaime, but Jast's was well girthier, a hefty sword with a long, curved shaft such as she hadn't seen before. "My gods," she said despite herself, one hand exploring his girth while the other caressed his broad shoulders and muscled chest. Prince Jamie was as well-made as one could want, but this man was built like an aurochs. "It will not bite, my lady," Benedict grinned. "Would you like to know it better?" he asked, guiding the tip of his member to touch against her dripping entrance. "Yes," she rasped, and they lay on their sides facing one another, her leg draped over his as he pushed just inside her entrance.

Denyse sensed the difference in size immediately. She could feel her cunt hugging him tightly, his cock straining her walls such as Jaime's never had. Benedict took her long, tanned thigh in hand, holding it aloft as he he worked his way deeper within her. It was not every day one found themselves rutting with a princess, and he intended to fully enjoy it. Her heavy teats bounced in rhythm as he slowly quickened his pace, finally reaching her bottom with length to spare. Now hilted within her, his hand gripped her to her arse for leverage as his thrusts grew in force. In time Denyse's wetness peaked, and he began using his powerful form to plow her depths in earnest. Denyse had never been fucked like this, never known such sensations existed, and she gave herself over to the incredible fullness as waves of pleasure passed through her.

As he felt her once again reach her climax, and sensed the imminence of his own, he briefly questioned whether it was it was wise to spend himself in her. The answer was no, of course, but he found that he did not care. He sensed that she wanted it as well, a suspicion confirmed by her soft moans of pleasure as she felt his throbbing cock fill her with seed. It seemed to her that his spend was more voluminous than Jaime's, and indeed she looked down to see it leaking from her sex as his member came free. She rolled onto her back, panting, unable to think of much beyond the pleasures she'd just received.

Minutes before and across the chamber, Melessa Jast had dropped to her knees. She now looked up at Jaime, blue eyes gleaming as she planted a long kiss on the tip of his member. "Gods," thought Jamie as she began swirling her long tongue around his cockhead. "Melessa Myatt is sucking my cock." What his sister would do if she learned of this night, he couldn't not fathom. Melessa had grown up in his Cersei's shadow, awaiting her chance to become something more. Jaime would indulge her in that fantasy, at least for one night. He was regent of Westerlands and its future king; perhaps it was time he started taking what he wanted.

He lifted Melessa to her feet and began removing her gown, gold trimmed in black in the colors of House Jast. Beneath it she wore only a thin metal chain, jewel encrusted, which was draped around her hips. "How do you want me, my Prince?" she asked, grinning wickedly. "I must defer to my guest in this," said Jaime. Melessa tilted her head in playful thought before turned away from him, reaching back to take his hands in her hers and place them on her shapely arse. Jamie clutched its cheeks approvingly, noting how the depths of her curves exceeded those of his wife. "Do you like that?" she asked, turning her head toward him. "I do," whispered Jamie, kissing her neck and massaging her rear. "Take it then," she said, dropping again onto her knees on the thick rug below them. Melessa bent herself forward onto her forearms, her apple-cheeked arse presented in the air before him. Jamie did not hesitate - any man would've been mad to. He dropped to his knees behind her and quickly found her entrance. As he pushed within her his hands found her hips, noting their width in contrast with her slender waist. "Perhaps this is why she's whelped half a village," Jamie thought. His own wife had finally given birth to their first child ten months prior - a year after Melessa produced her fourth.

Melessa braced herself forward against the floor, lifting her haunches to meet Jaime's thrusts. The most handsome knight in Westeros, her future king, was enjoying the fruits of her cunt - a fact only made sweeter because he was Cersei's treasured twin. He could not fill her up in the way of her husband - she doubted any man could - but the Prince was skilled in his craft, and his golden cock mined her depths well. He felt his hand squeeze her in warning, and she quickly removed herself from his length. Before Jamie could truly think she had turned around and nudged him upward, taking his cock and hand and tugging him to release. He stared down at surprise as she waited, mouth open and eyes closed, until his thick white seed spilled forth across her face.

"I didn't know that was an option," thought Jamie as lady Jast smiled up at him, licking her lips clean of his sticky charge. He looked across the room, where Deynse and Benedict had just ceased in their rutting. All for of them looked at one another, naked and planting and glazed with sweat and seed. "I told you we'd have fun," said Lord Jast, winking at his friend. "Fun is a long night an an alehouse in Lannisport," Jaime replied. "I don't know what to call this, but I want more of it."

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Two months hence, the Prince and Princes sat beside one another in their carriage on the road to King's Landing. Jaime's spirits were high with the prospect of a tourney so near - if he was also excited to see his sister, it was hard to tell it. Denyse put on a smile, but it concealed a burden she had not yet shared with husband. She had missed her moon blood - she couldn't be sure yet, but she believed she was with child. Her husband had bedded her not infrequently in the time before and after their drunken pleasures with Lord and Lady Jast. The babe could be Jaime's. But she could not ignore the fact that after producing only one child in five years with the Prince, her womb had quickened so soon after a night with the famously virile Lord Benedict Jast.


End file.
